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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26942857">the wicked and the just all the same</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splat_Dragon/pseuds/Splat_Dragon'>Splat_Dragon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020 [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>"water", #12, Arthur Whump, Day 11, Drowning, Murder, Non-Canon Canon Character Death, Sad Ending, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020, alt #12, alt.12, no happy ending, whumptober2020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:15:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>836</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26942857</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splat_Dragon/pseuds/Splat_Dragon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Whumptober 2020, alt. #12: Water</p><p>He gasped, found himself with a mouthful of muck - and then he was drowning. Couldn’t get air passed the mud and filth that entered his mouth every time he opened it, dug in his feet and arched his back and, just barely, managed to get his mouth above the marsh, spat the filth from his mouth and gulped down air—</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020 [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1945801</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the wicked and the just all the same</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3 class="title">
<em>the wicked and the just all the same</em><br/>~O Sleeper, Oh Hellos</h3><p>He’d thought they were taking him to Saint Denis.</p><p> </p><p>They’d been heading that way, at least. Those paths were familiar. That farm, that building, that fence.</p><p> </p><p>But then they’d peeled off into the swamps. Their horses had had to high-step through the murk, shrieking their unease to join the alligator’s hissing. And then he’d started to grow concerned - bounty hunters tended to be some awful people, and he’d know, considering he did bounty hunting on the side and, thus, could be considered one, and was an awful person in his opinion.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>He’d been out for a nice, relaxing ride. Left camp to get a breather after Molly and Dutch had had another fight - Molly had a damn good point, but Dutch would never admit it, of course. Hosea was supposed to have joined him, but at the last minute had had to break up a fight between Sean and the O’Driscoll and so he’d headed out alone.</p><p> </p><p>Arthur had only just turned the corner towards Valentine when the Bounty Hunter’s noose fastened tight around his neck. All he’d been able to do as the Bounty Hunter’s gun slammed into his head was watch as Archimedes fled back to camp and hope that none of them followed him.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>A gator surged up, its teeth snapping shut an inch in front of his face, and the Hunters laughed, guiding their horses around the swarm of gators, urging them forward and <em> ‘where the hell are they taking me?’ </em></p><p> </p><p>There didn’t seem to be anything different about the place they stopped - it was marsh and trees and that was it, no different than the hours of marsh they’d ridden through to get to it - but they reined in their horses, came to a stop and the one riding the horse he was bound to dismounted - and the expression on his face didn’t bode well for him.</p><p> </p><p>“What the hell are you doin’?” he demanded, but got no answer aside from being untied from the gelding’s rump and then - oh, oh <em> shit </em> - he squelched to the ground, closing his eyes as the muck covered them, arching up to get his nose and mouth above the filth and into the air.</p><p> </p><p>They grinned, slid their boot under his back, jerked, and then he was face-down in the mud without a moment to hold his breath.</p><p> </p><p>He gasped, found himself with a mouthful of muck - and then he was drowning. Couldn’t get air passed the mud and filth that entered his mouth every time he opened it, dug in his feet and arched his back and, just barely, managed to get his mouth above the marsh, spat the filth from his mouth and gulped down air—</p><p> </p><p>—a boot hit his head, and he was forced under again. Gasped of the pain, and inhaled swampwater and he choked, began to cough and sputter, tried desperately to hold his breath but already he was coughing, trying to get the swamp out of his lungs but every inhale just brought more in and his chest <em> burned, </em> he couldn’t <em> breathe </em> and <em> ‘oh god make it stop’ </em> he writhed in his bonds, dug his feet into the mud but they slipped and he was only able to get his face above the marsh for barely a moment, not nearly long enough to clear his lungs or get any air.</p><p> </p><p>The Bounty Hunters were laughing.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>His back arched and he managed to get air, spluttering water everywhere, but then his feet slipped and under he went again, struggles growing weaker and weaker - his lungs <em> burned </em> as hellfire, felt as though they were being gripped in a tight fist, and he <em> couldn’t stop fucking coughing </em> though each cough made him draw an involuntary inhale, only gulping down more water which made him cough all the more.</p><p> </p><p>Arthur’s mind whirled - god, what was happening? He tried to arch, to bring his head up, but he was dizzy and which way was up? He dug in his feet, pushed his chest up and tried to escape the <em> burning-straining-pain, </em>but why was he fighting so hard? He was so tired… and he could hear people laughing far away, so things couldn’t be that bad, right? And… and he was so tired, and he could hear Hosea and the others, surely they wouldn’t mind if he took a nap? He always felt better after he got some rest - Susan and Hosea always advocated a good rest when you were sick - and he felt sick something awful—</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> "If we don't stop soon we'll all be dying." </em>
</p><p> </p><p>he dug his feet into the mud,</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “You coming, buddy?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>his toes slipped, he didn’t even get his head above water,</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “The curious couple and their unruly son.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>his face planted into the muck,</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I was gonna say you’re like a son to me… but you’re more than that.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>his eyes drifted shut</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I never thought I’d say this, but it’s good to see you, Arthur Morgan.” </em>
</p>
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